Bollocks
by jackwabbit
Summary: A series of 221B fics, all ending in the same word, which should be self evident. Summaries at the start of each story/chapter. All gen so far, multiple character foci.
1. No Guarantees

**No Guarantees**

Rated: PG-13 (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV. Mycroft, John.

Series: Two.

Spoilers: A Study in Pink, A Scandal in Belgravia.

Summary: Even a fully vetted pup sometimes turns out entirely differently than you expected.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

Note: This begins a series of 221B fics that all end in the same word. It shouldn't be hard to figure out what that word is. Several more of these are on the way, most likely as weekly installments. Sorry, but I just couldn't help myself. Also, please note that I'm American, and while I don't change spelling so as not to be a poseur, I appreciate any and all Britpicking in the dialogue - especially in this series. If I get it wrong, Brits, let me know. Thanks!

xxx

The first time I met him, John Watson reminded me of a young terrier I once had: short, stocky, smarter than average, and filled to the brim with a fight he didn't quite know what to do with.

He was everything a good pup should be, and somehow, my brother had taken a shine to him. That alone piqued my interest, but the fact that John didn't seem to mind Sherlock's attention doubled it.

That's why I brought him in. Research didn't let me look John Watson in the eye, and I needed to see what I was up against. I liked what I saw then, and I dared to hope that this man could temper Sherlock's fire.

But as I look at Doctor Watson now, giggling maniacally alongside my naked brother in Buckingham Palace of all places, I can only sigh at the conflagration that is these two men together. It may be a more controlled fire than those in Sherlock's past, but it's still damn annoying.

I really should learn to be careful what I wish for.

For while my terrier became a fine dog and I sold him for exactly what I'd expected, John Watson surprised me.

That doesn't happen often.

But I suppose even a fully vetted pup sometimes turns out entirely differently than you expected.

Bollocks.


	2. Family Practice

**Family Practice**

Rated: PG-13 (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. John POV and focus.

Series: Probably Pre-Series, but fits anywhere.

Spoilers: A Study in Pink, I suppose.

Summary: Not all doctors are cut from the same cloth, you know.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

When I came home, all I wanted was some peace and quiet.

Family practice seemed to fit the bill nicely.

Pinkeye and sore throats seemed like dreams after the literal trauma and drama of wartime medicine.

But today, as I give what seems like my hundredth flu jab of the morning and listen to yet another kid with an earache bellow in the lobby, I can't help but long for a little excitement.

A laceration would do. Nothing major. Just a little something to keep me occupied so that another doctor could deal with little Jimmy out there. Something other than the same old thing over and over. Just a break in the routine.

I shake my head to derail that train of thought and tell myself that routine is good; that looking for some excitement is what landed me in the middle of nowhere with a bullet wound.

This is better. It's safer.

I finish up and call in the screamer.

And as the kid writhes enough to prevent a good look in his ears, I sigh.

His mother apologizes, but I wave her off and remind myself that I'll get used to this. That it's a valuable service. That somebody's got to do it.

And maybe, one day, I'll actually believe that.

Yeah, right.

What a load of bollocks.


	3. Denial

**Denial**

Rated: PG-13 (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Lestrade POV. Lestrade, Sherlock.

Series: Two.

Spoilers: Hounds of Baskerville

Summary: Deny it all you want, Sherlock. Lestrade isn't buying it.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I asked him once what he saw out there.

He dismissed me, of course. Told me it was nothing. That he'd seen the giant dog like the rest of us.

So I asked him why he'd started jabbering "it's not you" repeatedly when grappling with Franklin.

Oh, but that got his attention. He gave me his patented "drop dead" look. I had to stop myself from laughing. After all, I'm just an idiot policeman to him. Me noticing that surely surprised his royal brilliance.

When he finally answered me, his usual disdain was back in place. He said I must have heard him wrong; that the mist had affected my memory.

He turned and left my office, coat flapping behind him.

I smiled, knowing I'd beaten him for once.

Because despite everything, I know what I heard. And more importantly, I know what I saw.

It was something I never thought I'd see, and the memory of it wiped the smile from my face.

Because Sherlock Holmes had been scared shitless, and I don't want to imagine what could've caused that.

He saw something none of the rest of us did, and whatever it was, it terrified him.

He can deny it all he wants, but I've only got one thing to say to his insistence that he was fine.

Bollocks.


	4. Encore

**Encore**

Rated: PG-13 (Language, Alcohol)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV. Mycroft, Anthea.

Series: Any.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Mycroft has a bad night. Again.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

Anthea doesn't usually drink in public, but when she does, she consumes what is expected of a woman in her position. She partakes just enough of a fine wine or vintage champagne to fulfill social expectations.

But Anthea has worked for me for a long time, and therefore she is one of the few people with whom I share private moments. At those times, Anthea drinks whiskey. Only the finest Scotch will do, and she drinks it without apology but never to excess.

So I'm more than surprised when her text comes through, asking me to have someone pick her up at a club, of all places, because she believes herself inebriated.

My curiosity, along with the extreme rarity of her asking for favors, drives me to do the deed myself.

As soon as she stumbles to the car, I regret my decision not to send a driver.

For Anthea reeks of licorice, and if there's one thing I cannot stand, it's licorice.

I used to love it, but ever since Sherlock vomited copious amounts of Jagermeister all over my trousers some years ago, I cannot abide the stuff.

I don't ask why or how this happened, and I frankly don't care.

I just want to get my best employee home before she repeats my dear brother's performance.

Too late.

Bollocks.


	5. Exception to the Rule

**Exception to the Rule**

Rated: PG-13 (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Lestrade POV. Lestrade, John, Sherlock.

Series: Any.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Do doctors really make the worst patients? Generally, yes. But not always.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

When I got the call, I came right down.

I knew they were alright immediately, because I heard Sherlock long before I saw him.

He was dissecting someone's life whilst simultaneously critiquing their stitching technique.

"I could do better myself," he complained. I was surprised they didn't leave him to try until I entered the room and realized Sherlock wasn't the one being tended.

Instead, he was fighting with two orderlies who were attempting to get him onto a bed.

"I am fine!" he insisted periodically, despite the blood running freely down his left arm.

Meanwhile, John Watson sat on a gurney with his face in one hand whilst the other was being stitched up.

As Sherlock hovered over John and began another tirade about how John was a surgeon and how they'd best be careful and how if they weren't there would be hell to pay, John looked up. He nodded at me, then met his doctor's eyes. After a moment, he gave a single nod to his colleague.

Seven minutes later, Sherlock Holmes lay sedated on his own gurney as nurses cleaned his wounds.

John looked at me, then at Sherlock, and then he laughed out loud.

He didn't stop for a good long time, and neither did I.

I've always heard that doctors make the worst patients.

Bollocks.


	6. Unacceptable

**Unacceptable**

Rated: PG-13 (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV. Mycroft, John.

Series: Any.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: I have to draw the line somewhere, and I choose here.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I found out about it by chance.

A memo was misfiled and just happened to find its way to my desk.

Or so I was told.

Not that I believed that for even a second.

And when I find the man who arranged this "coincidence," he just might find himself the beneficiary of his very own twist of fate. One that will leave him far richer.

Because while I have freely given my life in service to this country, this goes too far.

I have to draw the line somewhere, and I choose here.

Yes, this goes too far, even for me.

I will continue to serve, willingly and to the best of my ability, but I cannot allow this.

I don't care what strings I have to pull and what favors I must call in to cancel these orders, but cancelled they will be.

Of that you can be certain.

This will not happen.

If I had to, I'd stand toe to toe with the Queen herself and tell her exactly what I think of this.

Good thing I won't have to.

Good thing certain orders have a funny way of disappearing around here.

Because somehow I doubt even I could get away with telling Her Majesty that the redeployment of Captain John Watson, MD, is absolute and utter bollocks.


	7. Observer

**Observer**

Rated: PG (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. John POV. Sherlock, John.

Series: One.

Spoilers: A Study in Pink.

Summary: John truly isn't as oblivious as Sherlock thinks.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I'm a doctor.

It's my job to figure out problems with limited information.

Sure, my patients can usually talk, and that can help me, but it's not always that easy. Sometimes, they can't talk. Other times, they don't know or won't say what the problem is, and sometimes they flat out lie to me. But no matter what they say, it's my job to find out the truth, even if they don't want me to.

So, come to think of it, being a doctor is a lot like being a detective.

I observe, come up with a theory, then check it with treatments and tests.

I'm right more often than I'm wrong.

So, contrary to whatever my flatmate might say, I'm actually a pretty keen observer.

And I started observing him the moment I met him.

I didn't just notice his mind-blowing leaps of logic that day. I also took in the fine jacket, the quality scarf, and the amazing coat, and I formed a theory.

Then I moved in with him, and I picked up on the quality of the violin and countless other things that cemented my hypothesis as fact.

Now, I'm still no Sherlock Holmes, and I'm not sure what he's up to, but I know one thing.

Him needing help with the rent?

Well, that's complete bollocks.


	8. Flawed Theory

**Flawed Theory**

Rated: PG (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. John POV. Sherlock, John.

Series: Any.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: John knows Sherlock's wrong. So does Sherlock, for that matter.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I've seen this movie dozens of times.

But as with most things, doing so with Sherlock makes it an entirely new experience.

This time, for once, because he miraculously fell asleep, the newness isn't caused by his endless comments.

Instead, it's an old line that suddenly has new meaning.

"If you're killed in the matrix, you die here?"

"The body cannot live without the mind."

I look over at Sherlock, out cold with one arm dangling off the couch and his head bent sideways, and I snort.

It's a pity he's asleep, even if it allows me some peace, because he'd appreciate that sentiment, what with his "the body is just transport" theory.

I chuckle at that thought.

After all, he passed out tonight because his body required rest. He's as human as the rest of us when it comes to his physical needs - most of them, anyway.

He knows that, of course, but he can't admit it.

Not to me, a doctor who knows it's true, and certainly not to himself, who knows better than anyone (doctors included) how accurate it is.

After all, not so long ago, in typical extreme fashion, Sherlock proved it.

For what is addiction if not the body controlling the mind?

So much for that transport idea.

As theories go, well, that one's total bollocks.


	9. Addictive Personality

**Addictive Personality**

Rated: PG (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV. Sherlock, John, Mycroft.

Series: One. (Occurs at the end of A Study in Pink.)

Spoilers: None per se.

Summary: An addict is always an addict. It's just the drug that changes.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

Even as a child, my brother had a tendency to obsess over details.

At five, he differentiated between pirates and privateers and knew which of history's great captains were which and when. He knew who changed sides and how often they did so. He knew trade routes and ports of call and he never shut up about any of it.

Our parents called him "quirky."

I had other words for him.

Later, it was the human body, especially anatomy and physiology, that lit his fire.

I suspect this is why he discovered alcohol younger than most. After all, for him, experience is the best teacher.

I was gone by then. I didn't know when his so-called quirk turned ugly.

But when liquid turned to pills and then powder, I knew.

I knew, and I'm ashamed to say I did nothing.

Not until it was almost too late.

I had choice words for him then, too, though for different reasons.

Somehow, I got him back, but it was murder, of all things, that saved him.

Time passed.

Things settled.

But now, I see that light in his eyes again as he grins at his companion, and I know I'm in trouble.

Because Sherlock Holmes, the epitome of an addictive personality, has found a new (and dangerously unpredictable) drug in John Watson.

Bollocks.


	10. Facade

**Facade**

Rated: PG (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Lestrade POV. Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock.

Series: Any, most likely early or pre-series.

Spoilers: None per se.

Summary: Mycroft isn't fooling anyone. Or at least not Lestrade.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I first met him after Sherlock got injured on a case.

And Lord help me, I do rather like the bastard, so I took him to get patched up.

Twenty stitches later, he was nearly good as new - until all hell broke loose.

For any sane person, chasing down a murderer and then dealing with a lacerated (and extremely stroppy) consulting detective would have been the highlight of the evening's entertainment, but since my life post-Sherlock is anything but sane, I guess I should have expected what came next.

Still, seeing Sherlock in a shouting match in a hospital corridor and then having his opponent round on me and proclaim the entire incident my fault still rendered me speechless long enough for Sherlock to escape. When he realized Sherlock was gone, my adversary turned, coat flapping in his wake in an all-too-familiar twirl, and disappeared after him.

I now know that man as Mycroft Holmes, and despite meeting him in several similar circumstances, I have never since seen him so incensed.

I'm not sure what broke him that day, but I'm glad it did.

Because otherwise I might believe the aloof façade that Mycroft maintains quite convincingly.

I might think he doesn't care about his younger brother.

But as it stands, I remember his expression that day, and I call bollocks.


	11. Occupational Hazard

**Occupational Hazard**

Rated: PG (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. John POV and Focus.

Series: Post-Two.

Spoilers: The Reichenbach Fall.

Summary: Some days, it just doesn't pay to be a doctor.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I thought it was just a stomachache.

This guy's in here all the time for something.

If it's not one thing with him, it's another.

So I didn't think much of his complaint.

But he demanded every test, as always.

I would have denied him that, as the NHS most likely would have, but he has supplemental private insurance and a lot of it, so I ordered blood screens and ultrasounds and barium studies.

I expected nothing to come of them, just like last year when I ran the same series on him.

But he insisted, and apparently he doesn't mind the tests half as much as he craves the peace of mind that negative results give him, so I ordered them.

And I'll be damned if this time the bastard wasn't right.

I can't be sure without even more tests, but I'm pretty sure my most high-maintenance patient has cancer.

The kind you don't walk away from.

This sucks. He's a pain, but he doesn't deserve this. He's only thirty-three years old!

And finding this today, of all days?

I lost Sherlock a year ago, and now this? Another life cut down far too early?

I almost took the day off, but I thought it'd be better to work; to keep my mind off it.

Guess I was wrong.

Bollocks.


	12. Remembrance

**Remembrance**

Rated: PG (Language)

Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Sherlock POV. Sherlock, John.

Series: Any.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Sherlock forgets something rather important. Again.

Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I've forgotten something "important" again, haven't I?

I can tell by John's slightly disappointed expression as he leaves the flat.

But he can't seriously expect me to want to join him and his dreadfully boring friends for a pint after he gets off tonight, can he?

Why did he even bother to ask?

He knows my answer. It has always and will always be decidedly no.

In fact, he stopped asking me such trivial things ages ago.

I thought he'd learned.

Oh, well.

I suppose even John forgets himself sometimes.

But my intentions today do not involve leaving Baker Street.

I have important experiments to conduct.

I put John out of my mind and get started. It's not until many hours later, when my brother rudely interrupts one of said experiments, that I remember John's odd request.

It's the slip of red in Mycroft's pocket that does it.

I focus on it and feel my eyes slip closed as I sigh.

Mycroft sees my reaction to his ornament and speaks slowly.

"Yes, well. I'll just be going then, shall I?" he says, and I wave him away with one hand.

He gives me that condescending smile of his and departs, his errand done.

Today is Remembrance Day, isn't it?

And I've forgotten. Today is Remembrance Day, and John was, no, _is_ a soldier.

Oh, bollocks.


	13. Military Shower

**Military Shower**  
><span>Rated<span>: PG (Language)  
><span>Category<span>: 221B Fic. Gen. John POV.  
><span>Series:<span> Any.  
><span>Spoilers<span>: The Great Game (minor).  
><span>Summary<span>: John's not in the army anymore. But is living with Sherlock really all that different?  
><span>Word Count<span>: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I'm not in the army anymore.

I shouldn't have to live like this.

It doesn't even make any sense.

Unless he's right, and the earth doesn't go around the sun, but actually revolves around him.

Some days, I could believe that.

Maybe we really do have it all wrong.

Because nothing else would explain how that man somehow looks like a walking fashion advert every minute of every bloody day when his habits say he should look like death warmed over most days.

Well, that and the fact that there's never any hot water in the flat in the morning.

I don't know what he does when I'm asleep (and judging by the usual state of the kitchen, I don't want to know), but I do know that he showers just before I get up.

And he must take his time about it, because with the notable exception of the nights he doesn't come home, I shower in record time under a freezing tap every day.

I really should learn to shower at night, but I'm a morning guy. It helps wake me up.

Maybe today will be different. Maybe today, he'll have done whatever crazy personal grooming routine he does differently. One can only hope, right?

Only one way to find out.

I turn the tap.

Nope. Not today.

Bollocks.


	14. Boltholes

**Boltholes**  
><span>Rated<span>: PG (Language)  
><span>Category<span>: 221B Fic. Gen. John POV.  
><span>Series:<span> Post-three, though works for any.  
><span>Spoilers<span>: The Empty Hearse (minor).  
><span>Summary<span>: That ringtone. At this hour. That's never good.

xxx

I gave them special ringtones.

I didn't want to, but I had to.

After all, only two people call me at all hours, and it's helpful to know which of them it is when I'm trying to ignore the phone in the middle of the night.

Because if it's Sherlock, I can usually safely assume he just wants a piece of toast and lost track of me, the time, and the toaster. Again.

But if it's Mycroft, I never know whether to expect him to drop 'round with a new case (he stopped phoning his brother with them ages ago, since Sherlock can't be bothered to talk to him most days) or to plan for the end of the world as we know it.

Seriously, with Mycroft, nothing would surprise me.

So when I hear the chorus of "Do You Hear the People Sing?", I groan. I thought I was being clever in my choice for him, and I stand by it, because it drives him mad, but it's four in the morning.

The hour means that, barring the apocalypse, there's only one reason for Mycroft to call.

I answer my mobile, Mycroft confirms my suspicions, and I get out of bed.

I'd almost rather the end of the world than this again.

Ten minutes later, I'm searching Sherlock's boltholes.

Bollocks.


	15. Inside Joke

**Inside Joke**  
><span>Rated<span>: PG (Language)  
><span>Category<span>: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV.  
><span>Series:<span> Any.  
><span>Spoilers<span>: None.  
><span>Summary<span>: Best friends always have in-jokes. Sherlock and John are no exception.  
><span>Word Count<span>: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

Not this again.

Really, I do wish he'd be more original. This constant repetition is beneath even him.

Especially when we're eating (and how did that even happen?).

So I used to be heavy.

So what?

I'm beyond caring about his petty insults at this stage of my life.

It's ancient history.

I know his goal: To get a rise out of me.

So I ignore him. I bow out of this particular little game of his.

His smirk falters when his insult misses its mark, and I smile.

My expression does what I intended. He actually snarls.

He really is so easy to manipulate. When will he learn?

Suddenly, he turns away.

"John?" he says.

Doctor Watson answers, "Yeah?"

Sherlock nods toward John's soup.

"You going to eat that?"

John shakes his head. "You know I don't like tomato."

Sherlock looks up at me and grins. The glint in his eyes wipes away my smile.

His next words are utterly predictable.

He nods toward me as he speaks.

"Give it to Mikey. Mikey will eat it."

John laughs, and Sherlock beams at me. It's my turn to snarl.

Damn Americans and their damn retro commercials.

And damn YouTube for letting John (and thus Sherlock) find _that_ one.

Because that's just what I needed. A new running joke between them.

Bollocks.

* * *

><p>AN: To those who don't know the reference, Google "Mikey Commercial" and you'll see what John did in this story. It's an old US ad where two kids who don't want to eat the "healthy" cereal being advertised give it to their kid brother, who eats it right up. It became a cultural trope, where any poor child named any variation of Mikey was always given the gross things no other kids wanted to eat as a joke, because they would supposedly eat anything. Thus, this story.


	16. Inevitable

**Inevitable**  
><span>Rated<span>: PG-13 (Language)  
><span>Category<span>: 221B Fic. Gen. Mary POV.  
><span>Series:<span> Three.  
><span>Spoilers<span>: General Series Knowledge Only.  
><span>Summary<span>: She really should have seen it coming.  
><span>Word Count<span>: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I left it all behind.

It nearly killed me - literally - but I did it.

I cut it out of my life.

Every bit of it: the killing, the lying, the stealing, the names I'd had for years.

All gone.

And for what?

For a chance to live a "normal" life. A chance to have what everyone else has: the house, the family, the biggest worry being what to wear to the fancy dress party put on by the neighbor.

And it was working, too.

John was my ticket to that life. The one I thought I wanted. The one I _did_ want, after I met him.

He was broken, but he wasn't like me. He was kind. And soft. And gentle. He was everything I was not, and he brought the parts of me I thought I'd hidden away forever out of the shadows and into the light. Everything was going well. Too well, in fact.

That should've been my first clue. Nothing ever goes that well in real life. Or at least not in my life.

So I should've been expecting it.

I should've been expecting _him_.

Him, with his brilliance and his arrogance and his adventure and his fucking it all up.

Him, throwing everything I'd left behind in my face.

Him, making me want it all again.

Bollocks.


	17. Deep Cover

**Deep Cover**  
><span>Rated<span>: PG (Language)  
><span>Category<span>: 221B Fic. Gen. Mary POV.  
><span>Series:<span> Three.  
><span>Spoilers<span>: General through the end of series three.  
><span>Summary<span>: Even if John and Molly had been fooled, there's no way Mary would buy his story.  
><span>Word Count<span>: Why, 221 (and ending with a "B" word), of course!

xxx

I've done my share of undercover work, so I know how it works.

I know you have to infiltrate and gain trust and be "one of them," whoever they might be.

I know that can mean doing some downright nasty things.

Because sometimes, you can't get out of doing those things, no matter what. So depending on the cover, it can be worth it to betray yourself . It's all for the greater good, as they say. Other times, you bail. You break cover and run because the price is too high.

And sometimes, you fake it.

You fire your gun in the air and throw your supposed victim off a dock.

You sip the wine but carefully spit it out when no one is looking.

And you inject the drugs you're supposed to be using subcutaneously (it burns like hell, and it's less than perfect, but it's better than the real deal) or switch syringes or any number of other things to merely look the part, not play it.

And with this lot?

They wouldn't notice a dinosaur if it bit them on the arse, and with his skills at manipulation, he could fool far more perceptive folks than these.

So Mister Sherlock Holmes claiming he was using for a case? Well , there's only one word for that.

Bollocks.


End file.
